Disclaimer: I am not JK Rowling. I do not own any of the below mentioned characters.

Reviews: Widely welcome. This includes constructive criticism.


When Harry did awake, it was near morning. He was no longer on the floor beside the remains of the plastic chair, but on top of his bed, dressed in his Hogwart's robes.

A sensation of pain flooded his every sense, and as it soared through his body he realized that the origin of it was his scar.

He brought his fingers to his forehead, pushing past the dark fringe, tracing the lightning shaped scar. Heat radiated from it, but at his touch the pain soon subsided.

Breathing hard, Harry sat up.

Hedwig was staring at him from her perch on his open window, her white wings outstretched a sif she planned ot take off at any moment. The cold and distant look in her eyes frightened him.

He stood and began to walk towards the desk, but upon putting weight on his left leg he collapsed.

Hedwig ruffled her feathers and flew off, leaving Harry gasping in pain on the floor, watching the white spot of his familiar disappear into the dark, early morning sky.

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Harry suspected he had been lying on the floor for an hour or more before he finally got up the strength to stand and make his way back to his bed. Lifting the robe over his head, and exposing his bare chest and the mark that had once been the bloody gash gaped at by Ron, and that now graced his torso with an ugly scar, he pulled back his left pant leg, only to find that his skin was soaked in blood.

He let out a strangled cry, jumbled thoughts rushing through his head like main street traffic, blurred and making no sense.

Only one thought was clear; What did I do last night?

Standing, and making an effort to keep his left foot off the ground, he leaned down and grabbed the broken leg of the chair that lay on his floor. Using it as a makeshift cane, he hobbled out of his room and down the hall to the upstairs bathroom, shutting the door and closing the latch.

He could hear the Durseley's snores and thanked the heavens that they were still asleep. He didn't want to think of the trouble his current situation would get him in with his uncle.

Sitting on the closed toilet beside the pewter sink, he took in a deep breath and focused on his task.

He had to clean up his leg. Afterwards he could figure out what had happened.

He grabbed the towel from beside the sink, hanging on a pewter hanger, and set it in the sink, spreading liquid soap on it and turning on the water.

After clearing away the many excess bubbles produced as a result of this, he grabbed the wet towel and applied it to his leg, grimacing at the pain.

He wished he had a maternal figure to do it for him, but he eventually had the injury cleaned up enough to see it's origin, what looked like a deep cut running down the length of his leg from his knee to ankle.

Standing on top of the toilet, trying desperately to ignore the pain and stay upright, Harry grabbed a roll of bandages from the medicine cabinet.

Once it was in his hand, Harry's balance instantly disappeared and he feel from his perch on the toilet seat to the floor, taking countless bottles of Aspirin and Tums with him.

He waited, silent, on the cold marble floor, pain soaring up his leg and face where most of the impact had resided.

He heard a grunt from his uncle's room, and then thankfully his aunt and uncle's snores. He had just let out a sigh of relief when he heard the unmistakable waddle of Dudley coming down the hall.

He pounded on the bathroom door, squealing in a voice that would rival a pixie's song. "LET ME IN!"

This, of course, woke Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, and soon the entire Durseley family were knocking at the bathroom door.

"HARRY! Get out of there!"

Unable to think of any other response that would keep him out of trouble he mumbled, "I wet myself."

He heard Dudley wheezing from the other side of the door, assuming he was trying to laugh, and Uncle Vernon chuckle absentmindedly.

Much to his own delight, he heard them walking away, Uncle Vernon commenting loudly to Aunt Petunia, "I always knew the boy was disturbed."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief, standing painfully and on tip toe, managing to put the medicine bottles back into their proper place.

Swinging the cabinet shut, to reveal a sour faced young teenager in its reflective surface, he sat back on the floor, an unraveled roll of bandages laying beside him.

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Although how he managed to do it was part of the mystery that surrounded him that morning, he hobbled back out of the bathroom with his leg sufficently bandaged.

Slamming his door shut, he crossed his room in two great steps and collapsed on his bed. "What in the bloody hell is happening to me?"

He wished Hermoine was there to supply him with a logical explanation, or even Ron, so that he'd know he wasn't making up the entire thing.

Even Hedwig wasn't there now. He was left alone with his thoughts, and the Durseleys below, laughing at his "accident."

From pure exhaustion, Harry fell back into a restless sleep, tossing and turning, his subconscious tormented with foreign images and sounds.